Behind The Masks
by The Shonen-Ai and Yaoi Goddess
Summary: Out for drinks, Eames decides it's high time that he breaks that mask Arthur always wears. ArthurxEames, probably OOC


**Title: **Behind the Masks

**Author:** The Shonen-Ai and Yaoi Goddess

**Pairing:** Arthur/Eames

**Rating: **M

**Word Count: **1,473

**Warning:** Yaoi(BoyxBoy)

**Dedicated To: **Faramirlover

**Word Prompt: **Masks

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inception. I don't own Eames or Arthur or Cobb or Ariadne or Saito or Yusuf or Fischer or anyone else… But I do wish I did. I really wish I did.

* * *

As a forger, Eames made it his mission in life to see beyond the masks that people put up. In most cases, he prided himself on being extremely good at unmasking people, even when they were most on guard—in company. He knew just how to push, just how to get under their skin and make them slip up.

Ariadne, for example. She prided herself upon being a mature student, eager to learn but not overly eager. A few well placed compliments, a few teasing comments, and all too soon, Eames could have her blushing and giggling like the naïve young woman that she was.

Cobb was a little more difficult, and yet, at the same time, one of the more simpler masks to crack. Nothing that Eames did seemed to work. Just as he had been about to give up, however, he realized something: there was no mask. When he realized this, it didn't matter anymore. It was really quite sad, watching Cobb go mad over the Inception case. He stopped watching, after that.

Yusuf was another simple soul. He didn't hide behind a mask at all. What you see is what you get, and all that. Eames was an old friend, and over the years he'd seen Yusuf react the same every time. Eames probably knew Yusuf better than anyone else.

Saito was also relatively easy to figure out. After all, the only thing he really wanted was to succeed. Behind that superior gaze was a man who only wanted to get things done, as easily and smoothly as possible. He wasn't nearly as calm and collected as he wanted others to believe, but beyond that, his mask was a part of him.

Figuring out Fischer had been both disappointing and eye-opening. His mask was very shoddily put together, but it was the thought behind it that made Eames pause. He worked so hard to gain his father's approval, had tried his best to become just as cold and hard of a businessman as Maurice had been. During Inception, Eames had seen the truth of it, however. Fischer was just a sad, lonely little boy who desperately wanted his father's love, and never once got it in reality.

Yes, they were all easy to figure out. But it was another unmasking, this one much more private, and much more pleasurable and frustrating for Eames, that he was truly proud of. Especially when you consider the fact that it came about completely unexpectedly, just as Eames had finally convinced himself that it was hopeless, and was convinced that he'd finally met his match in one person.

Arthur.

A bloody vexing, if astoundingly attractive, man. Eames had never had the pleasure, or the misfortune, of meeting another man quite like him. Every time they had ever worked together, the bastard had proven himself capable of showing only three different masks, at least towards Eames: a cool professional, a man who was irritated at Eames, or, and this only once, during the Fischer case, a mask of grudging, and fleeting, respect.

At first, Eames had tried to embarrass a reaction out of the straight-laced point man. He'd tried everything—even the most juvenile of pranks. Nothing worked. When his antics failed to raise more out of Arthur than a raised eyebrow and a condescending stare (and, really, the man could at least have the grace to blush. Some of the things Eames had done were downright humiliating.), he'd moved on to irritating the younger man.

It worked… to an extent. At least, he'd managed to get a few glares out of the usually expressionless point man. And, Eames had to admit, he might have gotten a bit more entertainment out of watching and providing the kick for Arthur that was strictly warranted. By that point, however, Eames had all but given up. Arthur's mask was made out of bloody titanium.

And then, after the Inception job, everything changed.

Cobb had gone home to see his children, and Eames could hardly blame him. Saito had gone to his American office, probably to drink alone, but Eames could understand the need for solitude after what had happened. Yusuf took his money and caught the first flight back to Mombasa, not wanting to leave his business unsupervised for any longer than necessary.

That left Eames, Ariadne… and Arthur. How she did it, Eames could only guess(though he had a feeling that she'd strategically neglected to mention that he'd be tagging along, smart girl that she was), but somehow, Ariadne had convinced Arthur to go for drinks with them.

And so, Eames, Arthur, and Ariadne had found themselves at a quaint little bar. Ariadne was well on her way to being utterly sloshed, but Arthur didn't seem to be affected by his drink in the slightest, despite the fact that Eames had lost count… which probably had something to do with the fact that Eames was steadily becoming pleasantly tipsy, himself. He found himself not-so-covertly watching the point man. Arthur really was quite the stunning young man. All creamy skin and dark hair begging to be tousled. High cheekbones, and lips meant for snogging. And his eyes…

"You know, darling, you have truly stunning eyes." Eames said, surprising even himself.

The reaction was instantaneous. Arthur's eyes widened ever so slightly, and his creamy skin took on a delicious pink hue that had Eames sitting up straighter. What was this…? A slow smirk eased it's way across Eames' lips as Arthur took a hasty gulp of his drink.

"It's true, darling. They're quite captivating. The kind of eyes a man could lose himself in, without any warning."

It was then that he noticed the slightly glassy look in Arthur's eyes. Hmmm… Maybe the point man didn't hold his liquor as well as Eames had assumed. Interesting. Ariadne, on the other side of Arthur, was flirting quite diligently with the handsome blond on her other side.

When Arthur didn't give a witty comeback, Eames knew he was on the right track.

"Of course, your eyes are only part of the enchantment." Arthur was trying to appear disinterested, of course. But Eames was a master of seduction, and Arthur was drunk.

"Your skin. It's pale perfection." Eames' fingers trailed along Arthur's neck—an innocent touch, of course.

It got the reaction he wanted, though. Arthur trembled under his touch, lips parting.

"It's just begging to be marked." Arthur's breath caught, but Eames didn't push. He didn't lean forward, didn't break the spell he was weaving over the point man… or was the point man weaving his own spell?

Eames brought his hand up, caressing the other male's skin and brushing his thumb across the point man's lower lip. Arthur's lips parted further, and his tongue danced out to taste the salt on the pad of his thumb.

"Shit, darling. The things I want to do to you…"

The words seemed to break something in Arthur, and the next thing Eames knew, lips were crashing against his. The miss was messy, imperfect—and everything that defined this complex relationship that they had.

It was the best kiss Eames had participated in yet.

Later, Eames could never figure out how they got from that bar to the hotel. Considering the fact that his wallet was a little lighter, there may have been a taxi involved. But Eames was far too busy snogging the life out of the point man, and Arthur reciprocating quite enthusiastically, to care. Somehow, they ended up in Arthur's room, the forger pressing the point man against the bed as he proceeded to use his lips and teeth and tongue to turn the man into a writhing, panting mess, all the while watching Arthur as his mask shattered.

As he marked Arthur's neck, the point man shuddered. A small moan slipped from him. When his tongue encircled a nipple, teeth worrying the little nub, Arthur gasped and threaded his fingers through the forger's hair. When his tongue dipped into his navel, Arthur's back arched.

And when Eames finally took him into his mouth, Arthur could only gasp out one word.

"Eames!"

Eames worked Arthur to completion fairly quickly, Eames' name falling from Arthur's lips almost reverently. And when he lay there, panting, spent and pliant, there was a look in his eyes that Eames had never before seen directed at himself, but was more than enough to send the forger, already close at the sheer intensity of Arthur's reaction to him, over the edge with a sharp gasp.

When they fell asleep, it was curled into each other in contentment, the warm afterglow firmly in place.

And when Eames woke the next morning with a gun in his face, he could only grin.

"Good morning to you, too, Darling. I suppose this means you're not up for another round, then?"

* * *

A/N: All I can say, is that I'm so very sorry it took so long, and that I hope you aren't too disappointed by it.


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